Turnabout Nephew
by Turnabout Writer
Summary: "'Kristopher Gavin, where are you' Ema cries, searching for the three-year-old boy. This is bad. She should have never brought him to work with her, especially not when she was going to Solitary Confinement – where his uncle, Kristoph, is imprisoned. Especially when Kristopher can easily get lost like he is now." … But why name a child after his delinquent uncle?


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is copyright © 2013 Turnabout Writer. All rights reserved.**

"Mama . . ." Little Kristopher Gavin tugs on his mother's lab coat. "I wanna a Snackoo!"

Scientific Detective Ema Gavin sighs and crouches down to her son. "Sweetheart, Mama doesn't have any Snackoos on her – we finished them in the car, remember?"

"Nein, Mama! I eat 'em now!" His cerulean eyes shine with tears and he crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. He's just like his father, always throwing German phrases here and there – it really throws Ema off at times. But she finds it so adorable, since his German is poor and broken.

"Kris, if you be a good little boy, then I'll buy you all of the Snackoos in the vending machine when we get back to the precinct, but for now, hold on to Mama and don't walk away from me, alright? And if you think you are lost, then just give me a shout, okay, baby?"

"'kay!" He pauses. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Aawl of da Snackoos?"

Ema laughs, patting her son's head as she recoils from her crouched position. "All of them," she vows.

The little boy rests his head against his mother's small, bumpy stomach. "Mama?"

"Yes, Kris?" she asks, laughing.

"Will da baby wike Snackoos?" The boy looks up at his mother, his clear, blue eyes shining with curiosity and excitement.

The detective chuckles again.

"I don't know, Krissy."

Ema starts to chat with an officer about the current case she was assigned to, but in the midst of her work and interrogations, somehow she loses Kristopher from her grasp and he's nowhere in sight.

And when she realizes this, the pregnant woman gets frantic.

"Kristopher Gavin, where are you!?" Ema cries, searching for the three-year-old boy. This is bad. She should have never brought him to work with her, especially not when she was going to Solitary Confinement – where his uncle, Kristoph, is imprisoned.

Especially when Kristopher can easily get lost like he is now.

.

.

.

"Mama!" Little Kristopher cries. "Mama, ich bin verirrt!" He sobs as he begins to walk – he doesn't know where, but all he knows is that he wants to find his Mama soon. "Mama, Papa, bitte komm und finde mich bald," he cries and then begins to bawl.

But his legs eventually tired out, and he stops walking.

"Sind Sie verloren, Junge?" a smooth voice calls out, though the little boy has no idea that the voice's natural tongue is German.

Kristopher looks at the tall man from the open cell window, though still partially covered with jail bars. He has the same color hair – whitish-yellow – as his and his father's. It's twisted into the same drill style his Papa used to have before he cut it off.

"Ja . . . And Mama say stay wid her but now I am wost. Mama 'ill get mad at me"

The man is shocked that the boy understood – the German was only a slip of Kristoph's tongue. He hadn't realized that it was an automatic response to hearing someone else speak in German.

Hell, he hadn't realized that someone was speaking German at all.

"You know German and English?" His voice is full of shock – it appalls him to grasp how this place has been ruining his intellect.

"Papa say German at home – I not good like him. Papa says to, um . . . per-rack-tis. Mama gets confoosed when he say German."

"Hmm . . . so your Papa married someone from here?"

"Ja!" Kristopher instantly feels comforted. "Mama izz an 'atective scien'ist. She use spway and see bwood!"

"Oh, that's nice." He pauses. "What's your name, boy?" Maybe he could try to find a guard who knew of a missing child around here.

"My name izz Kwistopher. Wid a 'K', no 'C'!" The boy extends a hand through the jail bars encaging Kristoph, giving the prisoner an adorable, toothy grin. "Mama say Kwissy and Papa say Meine Kleine!"

Kristoph smiles, and it is the first genuine smile he's given in a long time. "Nice to meet you, Kristopher. My name is Kristoph, also spelled with a 'K', not a 'C'," he says, taking the hand and gently shaking it.

"Kwistoph? Wow!" Kristopher giggles. "Ouw names awe awmost da same!"

Kristoph looks wistful as he answers. "Yes, indeed, they are."

The child just beams at the criminal and there's a sudden silence as Kristoph tries to figure out what it all means.

"Krissy!" a feminine voice suddenly cries, shattering it immediately.

A woman with dark brown hair, a pair of pink glasses perched on top, and a lab coat – he vaguely recalls her as a detective from one of his last cases – comes rushing to the boy, taking him into her arms, tears starting to stream down her cheeks. She hugs him tightly to her chest. Kristoph takes note of her stomach's small pregnant bump.

"Mama!" the boy exclaims happily.

"Kristopher, don't you ever do that to me again!" she cries.

"Mir leid, Mama!" he sobs, wrapping his arms around her neck.

"Shh . . . it's fine. The only thing that matters is that you are safe." She glances at Kristoph Gavin through her tears.

_I was afraid of this happening._

"Mama, I . . ." He sniffles, wiping his tears away furiously. "I big boy now. No werwy, Mama."

Ema just hugs him tighter to her chest. "I know, baby. I know."

Kristopher looks up at his mother's face. "Mama, I – "

"Meine Kleine!"

Ema, Kristoph and Kristopher turn to see Klavier Gavin, who is running over to the mother and child, embracing them both.

"Papa!" the young boy exclaims in joy.

"Meine Kleine, bist du in Ordnung?!" he asks his son – his voice is full of relief – hugging him with one arm and kissing the top of his head as one arm wounds itself around his wife. Kristopher jumps out of his mother's arms and hugs, clinging on to, Klavier's legs.

"Ja, Papa!" His voice is excited as he sniffles. "I made a new fwiend 'aday, Papa!"

Ema's eyes widen as she grips Klavier's arm tightly. "Klavier," she whispers.

"Meine Liebe?" he asks, suddenly worried of his wife's panicked eyes.

"I think his friend – "

But Kristopher stretches her neck around to face the criminal who's been watching the entire scene from his cell. "Kwistoph! See my Papa!"

Klavier and Ema turn around to see the prisoner, who stares at the scene before him.

"I d-didn't know that _he_ was your father." Kristoph seems disgruntled, arms crossed over his chest and his face no longer held high – instead his back slumps down, his glasses close to sliding off of his nose.

Kristopher frowns. "You know Papa?"

"Krissy, I think we should be heading back to the precinct – didn't I promise you to get all of those Snackoos?"

"No," he refuses stubbornly.

"Kris . . . ," Ema warns.

"No, Mama!"

"Kristopher! You will listen to me this – "

"Meine liebe! He's only a child, Ema; you don't possibly expect him to know anything, do you?" Klavier seems nonchalant, like it's not affecting him whatsoever.

But Kristoph knows that his perfectly composed mask will break. _He_ will end up breaking it, whether he wants to or not.

"Go home and take some rest, Ema – you've been working on the investigation for the State v. Anderson case all night long. Or why don't you go visit Herr Wright and Fräulein Magician's place? I'm sure Herr Forehead will be there as well. Chill, relax . . . stay cool, ja? I'll bring Kristopher home and we can stop for dinner on the way. And a pregnant woman shouldn't be stressing over things too much, ja?" He kisses his wife's forehead and brushes his thumb over her cheek.

The detective sighs. "Alright." But she glances at Kristopher, who has an innocent expression on his face as he clutches onto his father, who holds his son up in his arms.

"No junky, unhealthy food, got it?" She ruffles her son's crisp, blonde hair, kissing his cheek and then does the same thing with Klavier.

"Ja, Mama!" Klavier – jestingly – and Kristopher say at the same time, and Ema internally wonders if Klavier is aware of the situation he's in, since he's so carefree and happy in this moment.

She feels sorry that the happiness will fade away after she leaves. But she knows that Krissy will help him stay strong.

"Oh, and Fräulein Detective?"

"Yes, Glimmerous Fop?"

"I love you. Take care, Meine Spatzi."

She nods with a faint blush. "You too. Keep a careful eye on the little monster."

He smirks.

_Fop._

She again blushes as she walks out, knowing that his brother is right there, but then worries for her husband, since he will be facing his brother after a few years.

_Good luck, Klavier . . ._

.

.

.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Mama!"

Kristopher waves his mother goodbye as Klavier strokes his soft, blonde hair softly. He embraces the boy closer and tighter to his chest as his Kristoph tries to stare Klavier down.

"Papa?" The little turns his face towards his father.

"Yes, Kris?"

"Did Mama find out 'estaday!? Will I have a bwother or sista?!" His cerulean eyes shine as he mentions his future sibling.

"A sister," Klavier answers, his voice soft, as he smiles at his son.

The child claps in joy. "Did you 'ear that Kwistoph? I'm getting a baby sista!"

"Good," Kristoph responds, smiling – though Klavier can't make anything out of it. Instead, his face becomes carefully composed in an emotionless mask and he begins to walk away, with his son in his arms.

_Feigling_, his inner voice taunts.

"Klavier, please, wait a moment!" he hears the criminal plead.

"Yes, Mr. Gavin?

Klavier's son, who was snuggled in the crook of his father's neck, looks up in surprise. He wants to ask how his new friend knows his father's name – did he know his name because he knows him as the famous singer, or as the famous prosecutor? He also realizes that his father addressed him as 'Mr. Gavin'.

They shared the same last name?

But Kristopher was very perceptive and was a very smart little boy, deciding that now wasn't the time to speak up.

His expression of wonder doesn't go by Kristoph.

"Why, Klavier? You deny who I am to you now, but name your heir, your child after a criminal like me?" Kristoph presses.

Klavier soothingly rubs his son's back, as if he were trying to calm him down – when in reality, he was the one who needed to calm.

"Answer me, Klavier."

Klavier looks into his brother's eyes with a blank stare and gives no response.

Kristoph sighs dejectedly. "Fine. Be difficult. But I'm not going to let you waste my time." Klavier wanted to scoff – if you were in prison, you'd have nothing but time. "Now, if you would excuse me . . ."

But when Kristoph begins to walk back to his bookshelf. Klavier opens his mouth to speak.

"To have a Kristoph that won't tarnish the family lineage . . . that's all Klarissa Gavin asked for. You're named after Mutti's closest bruder, Onkel Kristoph – she hoped that the name could start anew after she had learned of his crimes, and bear no shame to our family. She was wrong, unfortunately. You are a disappointment to Mutti, Kristoph! And when I named my son 'Kristopher', I bore in mind to never to let him become like you or Onkel!"

Kristoph avoids Klavier's piercing, resentful gaze. "There's a vast difference between Kristoph Amsel and Kristoph Gavin, Klavier."

"Not in my eyes, Kristoph! You both are the same, regardless of the differences in the crimes you have both committed!" Klavier shouts, as Kristopher begins to cry. He sees his father is upset.

"Shh, Meine Kleine . . . don't cry, Papa is here." He glares at Kristoph when he starts walking away. "Say goodbye to Mr. Kristoph." _It's the last time I'll let him near you._

"Onkel," Kristoph corrects as Klavier's eyes widen in shock. _The nerve . . . _

"Mista Kwistoph," agrees the boy as he pokes his tongue at Kristoph.

Kristoph is taken aback at the boy – he catches on quite fast.

"Wet's go, Papa! He make you mad. He not my fwiend anymowe!"

Klavier smirks and kisses his son's forehead. "Pizza, Kris?" he asks.

"Ja, Papa!"

When Kristoph sees that the two are out of sight, he walks to his sofa, sits down . . .

And laughs.

Like father, like son.

.

.

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**Sind Sie verloren, Junge? – Are you lost, boy?**

**Ich bin verirrt! – I'm lost!**

**Bitte komm und finde mich bald – Please come and find me soon**

**Mir leid! – I'm sorry!**

**Meine Kleine – My little one**

**Meine Liebe – My love**

**Meine Spatzi – My sparrow (German term of endearment)**

**Feigling – Coward**

**Mutti - Mom**

**Onkel - Uncle**

**A/N: This is not beta-read, so excuse any mistakes please.**

**I don't know why, this feels different then any other time I try to portray the Gavin brothers.**

**Oh, and sorry if the whole baby talk, and Kristoph and Kristopher thing threw you off!**

**Hope you liked it!**


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